"What in the void has gotten into you?" Brynn snapped. Daron ignored her, fishing through his pockets. He pulled out the sketchbook he'd taken from camp, flipping through the stiff pages. He stopped, and held it up at arm's length. The building in the sketch loomed before him, more majestic in person than the meticulous drawing had conveyed. A copper dome, green with age and patina, capped the breathtaking building. It was a different angle, slightly, but it was the same building none the less.
He glanced at his companions, confusion evident on their faces. He motioned, and took off without checking to see if they followed, up the heavily worn stone steps to the building's main doors.
A sign carefully stenciled on bronze set into the whitewashed wall announced it was a museum. While there were few trees and even less open grass in the city, the museum was set amongst lush and verdant park, surrounded by well-maintained bushes. A handful of serious looking men in their long coats and rounded hats idled about the grounds, the first serious grass he'd seen in town. Daron yanked on the brass handle and tugged the door open.
The entry hall was a two story dome soaring above them, with more of the same statues that dotted the exterior lined up within alcoves set into the ceiling. Shelves lined the walls, some with thick glass cases set onto them holding various artifacts of importance. A short man in a suit, likely which cost more than half of Daron's yearly wages, detached from a desk beside the door and bowed to them fluidly.
"You're taking a tour now?" Brynn muttered. He thrust the sketchbook into her hands to shut her up, and confronted the clerk before he could get a word out.
"What is this place?" Daron asked, gesturing to the vast room.
"The Museum Terra," the man replied somewhat smugly. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, straightening it. "I can see you're not locals."
"Passing through," Daron muttered. "What sort of things do you keep here?"
"Items of historical significance," the clerk said in a tone like he was speaking to a child. He all but rolled his eyes and sighed with each word. Daron ground his teeth and resisted an urge to throttle the man. "This building is one of the oldest in the city, set aside to catalog and display all sorts of wondrous collections over the vast history of the land. Long before it became part of the realm, Terra was a kingdom unto itself."
The words came off like a well-rehearsed speech. Daron nodded irritably.
"Do you have any ancient tomes or books?" he asked. It might be nothing, but someone in that camp had taken the time to sketch intricate drawings of the. Was it simply idle hands, or was there something more?
"Books, sir?" the man sniffed. "We have several thousand tomes, ranging from detailed histories, oral accounts, maps of the city's original layout, blueprints depicting the world's most advanced sewer system-"
"No books on magic, or maybe banned tomes?" Daron cut in.
The man fixed him with a stare not unlike one would give a child for saying something absurd. Brynn snickered, and then tried to cover it with a cough. Even Martin was grinning openly beside him. Leah stood mute as she had since they'd left the camp, eyes fixed solidly on the floor.
"Perhaps you'd like to try the library," the clerk suggested. "We have only books pertaining to Terra and it's joining of the realm, as well as Upper and Lower Terrin novels of importance. Magic? Hardly."
"This is pointless," Brynn sighed, grabbing Daron by one sleeve and dragging him out. "You can see the pretty trinkets later."
"I do hope you come back again," the clerk called in a tone that implied quite the opposite. Martin spun and bowed as they left.
"You mind telling us what this is about?" Martin asked with a grin. "Magic books? I'm suddenly regretting my decision to join you."
"I found that sketchbook back at camp," Daron defended. He felt a little foolish, but he'd be damned if he'd let them pick at him because a hunch had been wrong. "I thought maybe they'd been here for a reason."
"It's a pretty building," Brynn said. "Even bloodthirsty villager-kidnapping soldiers have a hobby."
Daron opened his mouth to respond, and then snapped it close. Nothing would be gained from arguing, and they still had work to do. He snatched the book back from Brynn and returned it to his pocket, fixing her with a glare. With a last look back at the building, they set off again into the busy streets.
Chapter 15.
Jarod cracked one eye and watched Aiden pace about the stone room. Faint rays of light shone in from long horizontal slits carved into the stone near the roof, and Aiden fretted between them. Jarod sighed and closed his eyes again, hands tented behind his head as he lay on the cold floor.
It was morning, and then. They'd been pushed unceremoniously into an ancient building late in the night. It had the look of no structure Jarod had seen before. Perhaps it was one of the oldest stone buildings, from back when this area used to be known as Terra. Could a building survive that long? It seemed so. The great stone door, pitted by immense age, had slammed shut behind them, casting them into utter darkness. It must be well balanced, to be closed by a single man.
He'd seen no camp as they'd been led in, just a ghostly white building almost glowing in the night. After they'd been shut in, the voices had drifted away. Likely they were alone. Without any light to see by, they'd talked for a bit about their options, and then Jarod took the opportunity to sleep. He had no idea when he'd get another chance, and fretting about their situation wouldn't improve it.
"What's your plan, and then?" Aiden asked. Jarod heard the pacing stop. Finally, he thought, cracking open one eye again. The man loomed over him, arms crossed almost petulantly.
"Rest a little longer," Jarod said, closing his eye again. "Wait for someone to show up."
"That's it?" Aiden laughed bitterly. "We simply wait?"
"I'm open to suggestions."
"How about we try and escape?"
Jarod waved one hand without looking. "Have at it. Let me know how it goes."
Aiden snarled in disgust while Jarod sighed to himself. It was pointless, but maybe if he went through the motions, it would mollify Aiden. Being penned in with the restless and dour man would make this significantly more unpleasant. Jarod pushed himself to his feet and stretched. The stone floor hadn't been as uncomfortable as he'd thought.
The door had no lock, nor hinges that he could see. It was a slab of rock identical to the walls, with barely a razor's edge of a gap between where it closed. Jarod gave it an experimental shove, but he might as well be trying to move a mountain. Apparently, if it was balanced to move easily, it didn't do so from within. Or it was barred somehow.
"I tried that," Aiden said. Jarod ignored him. He peered at the walls. They were covered in angular hatch marks, in neat rows about five feet wide. Some form of writing? They started at the roof, below the slits in the stone, and ended at the floor itself. Neat and uniform, they almost looked like tally marks. Every wall was covered in the markings, though most had faded to the point of being little more than bumps on the stone.
The floor was gouged and pitted near the center. It looked like something heavy had been pulled from the room at one point, scraping away at the stone. Parts of the floor were covered in a fuzzy layer of moss. Aside from the holes near the roof, there was nothing else of note in the room. It was perhaps twenty feet wide, and eight feet narrow.
Voices carried to them, echoing slightly in the room. Aiden froze, and then slid to one side of the door. There was nothing to use as a weapon. Jarod nodded and took up a position on the other side of the door. Did it open in, or out? He couldn't remember from the night before.
The door groaned and rolled open, swinging out from the building. No one stepped in, quite obviously not fools. Jarod waited a moment, fixing Aiden with a glance, shrugged, and stepped out into the morning.
Six armed men were arrayed in a semi-circle before the door. Three held pistols on the entry, the others with swords at ready in hand. Sammet stood at the front of the group, pistol in hand, leering at Jarod.
"Our host requires your presence," the redheaded man said. His grin was a broken fence of yellowed teeth.
"Excellent," Jarod said in a friendly tone. "No reason not to get this all over with as quick as possible."
"Yes, I like that," Sammet grinned. "You will pray that Kerris 'gets this over with as quick as possible'. You would not like what would happen should he wish this drawn out."
"If it gets me away from your incessant blathering," Aiden muttered, "I'll take it."
Sammet's eyes flashed, but he said no more. Gesturing with his pistol, he signaled for them to move out. Jarod gave another shrug. The other man was busy fixating on their captors, likely weighing if the two of them could tackle the six. Jarod had little doubt that the two of them could do some damage, possibly even get away, even if heavily wounded. Kerris was the leader, however. Until he'd gotten a look at what was truly going on here, he was willing to play along. He gave a quick hand signal to Aiden. Patience, he urged to himself.
As they left their makeshift prison, Jarod spied other such buildings. He shivered involuntarily. Mausoleums. Crypts. Ancient and unyielding to the elements. The grass grew wildly and tall about the gently rolling hill, but stopped a dozen paces from each building. Perhaps the grass knew something he didn't.
They set out at a fast clip, forging through the waist high flora. Two men in front, including Sammet, four men behind. Single trees dotted the area, though ahead lay the forest, most of the trees that hadn't lost their leaves showing golds and reds.
A quarter of an hour passed, and they slowly ascended a small rise. Jarod could smell smoke on the air. They crested the hill, and Jarod staggered in shock.
Below them nestled in a bowl depression within the forest was a clearing full of tents. They radiated out from a central pavilion like spokes on a wheel, organized and meticulous. Hundreds of men wandered through the camp. Perhaps a thousand. This is no simple group of bandits, he thought with dawning horror. This was a small army.
"Yes, I thought you might like this," Sammet leered. "The look on your face warms my heart."
A dozen wagons were parked on the far side of the camp, near where long picket lines held the horses. From the top of the rise, Jarod could see groups of men training with pistols, taking aim at wooden dummies staked into the ground against the edge of the forest.
"This is a serious problem," Aiden whispered.
"I know," Jarod replied.
"That's at least a thousand men," Aiden hissed.
"I know."
Sammet laughed heartily, joined by the rest of his men. Jarod felt his heart sink. This was a lot worse than Tel had let on. He did some quick calculating, his face growing darker as he pondered the results. Upper Terrin, like every city, had no army. It had a town guard, but he doubted they held half as many as the force before him. The walls were hardly more than decoration, perhaps a dozen feet high. Easily scalable, with miles to defend. A group as small as this could do some serious damage to the city, by his estimation.
The men pushed them forward, stumbling down the hill. They wove their way through the tents, dodging campfires as well as men and women going about their duties. People everywhere stood to watch as they were paraded down through the camp. A few laughed, some pointed, but most watched in silence as Sammet urged them forward.
They paused outside the pavilion tent. It was as large as a small inn, thick and expensive canvas draped across half a dozen support poles. The doorway was rolled closed. Sammet paused for a moment and flashed Jarod a meaningful glance.
"You will wait here," he said, and then gestured to the camp surrounding them. "Try anything, and it will be most unpleasant". He slid aside the hanging door and entered.
Jarod's eyes skimmed the camp. They'd barely make a dozen yards before they'd be caught, if they ran now. Hundreds of eyes still bore down on them. If he so much as tensed a muscle to begin an escape attempt, they'd know.
At this point, it looked like their only option was Daron and Brynn. He tried to be optimistic. They were both intelligent, he reasoned. They were, however, also less than a week graduated. He sighed.
A moment later Sammet held the canvas aside and gestured for them to enter. The armed men ushered them in.
The tent was opulent. The grass had been stripped away, and a vibrant Takarian rug had been laid down. A large table was centered above it, covered by stacks of papers and a few thick leather-bound tomes. Incense had been lit and filled the air with the smell of cut flowers, mingling with the smells of cooking breakfast from outside.
Seated at the table was an unimposing man. His clothes were loose and utilitarian, a simple green woolen button up shirt and thin deerskin gloves, dyed black. Cufflinks glittered in the sleeves of his blood red jacket, offset by his warm gray tie. He looked no older than Jarod, though his eyes were dark and critical, deep lines creasing his brow. He flicked his eyes up from the paper he was reading to regard the prisoners.
"Kill them," he said with a wave of his hand.
Jarod held his breath for a moment. He hadn't been expecting that. He wasn't sure what he actually had been thinking would happen, but he was hoping to glean some information and be stuck back in their cell until he could plan some sort of escape. For Kerris to just dismiss them without so much as a conversation was shocking. It was logical, he supposed, since they posed a threat, but he hadn't figured it would be so simplistic.
Sammet, of all people, came to their rescue. He shuffled forward a half step, hesitantly, and cleared his throat.
Kerris let his gaze drift up. He looked completely unconcerned by anything, like a bookkeeper going over some numbers. There was no emotion on his face, no anger at being second guessed or enjoyment in ordering them to their deaths.
"Yarid has suggested we keep them alive," Sammet stammered. The man was clearly afraid of Kerris, though the man behind the desk looked like nothing more than a studious shopkeep. "Some of their friends managed to free the Mediyans."
Jarod felt his heart soar in exaltation. Despite everything, Daron had managed to get the villagers clear. That set him at ease, and his optimism came rushing back. At least there was one good thing about the whole mess.
Kerris pondered it for a moment. His gaze swept Jarod, and the commander felt himself shiver, like snow had just been thrust down the back of his shirt. There was a palpable aura on the man. It wasn't exactly sinister, but there was a charged feeling in the air. His eyes moved on and the feeling vanished.
"We will need many more volunteers. When I hold it in my hands, these two might make a decent start," Kerris mused aloud. "When the time comes, I will rip your soul from your bodies. So be it. I trust you can keep them out of the way until we are ready?"
Jarod shivered again. He'd never heard of such magic. Sorcerors worked by redirecting energy in some fashion, he recalled, but this was alien. Ripping out a soul? It seemed ridiculous, but Kerris stated it in such a matter of fact way he had no trouble believing the man was confident he could do so. They had woefully underestimated the trouble Tel had told them about.
Jarod glanced sideways at Aiden and gave the barest of nods. Aiden gave no indication of having seen, but instantly spun around, grabbing the man behind him and dragging him a step forward, using him as a shield against any shots that might be fired.
Praying silently, Jarod threw himself back, slamming into the man closest to him right as darkness enveloped the inside of the tent. He tumbled down, entangled with the man, grasping around for the gun before it could fire. He heard Sammet swear somewhere close beside him.
His hand found the gun. Unsure of where his attacker was precisely, Jarod whipped his fist downward, and was rewarded with a grunt as he slammed it into the exposed belly. The grip on the gun slacked, and Jarod spun to his feet.
Light suddenly filled the room. The darkness evaporated like fog before the sun, wavering away in the span of a breath. Sharp pain rolled through Jarod's mind as his will was snapped clean away from the cantrip. Kerris waved a hand like buzzing pests away from his face. How in the void had he done that?
Fighting the pain, Jarod leveled the pistol up and hauled back on the trigger. The gun coughed loudly, filling the tent with a thick haze of smoke. The bullet careened off something invisible before Kerris, ricocheting off and ripping a hole in the canvas tent.
Kerris reached down and calmly grasped an ankle from the man Jarod had tackled, who withered before his eyes. His hair grew from brown towards gray, wrinkles appearing on his face. The aging man writhed in wordless agony. Years of life were drained out of him in a heartbeat. Jarod paused dumbly, terror clawing at his mind. None of this was possible!
Kerris flung his hand forward. There was disquieting sound of rushing air, and Jarod was slammed with enough force to fling him out of the tent. The world spun in a sickening blur. He landed hard and rolled twice, coming to a stop face down on the grass outside. A dozen armed men were charging at the tent, having heard the shot.
Jarod gasped for breath, but found it wouldn't come. His chest refused to move, like a massive stone had been dropped onto his ribs. He struggled to his feet, but his vision was fading to gray as he desperately dried to pull in air. None was coming. Had the man crushed his chest?
Kerris strode from the tent. The flap swung in the breeze, and Jarod could see Aiden laying face down on the carpet within, unmoving. Kerris held up a hand, and the arriving soldiers slid to a halt and waited.
Their leader squatted down beside Jarod, dusting his chest off like clearing dust from a table.
"That," Kerris whispered in a neutral tone, "was abundantly stupid."
Jarod struggled to reply, but his chest was still made of iron, unyielding and unmoving. His lungs burned from the lack of air, and he slid forward and peacefully down to the ground as darkness embraced him.
Chapter 16.
"We're here, sir," the driver called, rousing Daron from sleep. He blinked his eyes into focus, which took far too long for his tastes. He'd slept like the dead during the trip, thankful for at least a little rest. Leah slept against his shoulder, her hair smelling faintly of lavender. He didn't move for a moment, listening to her rhythmic breathing, feeling the warmth of her pressed so close.
Brynn was watching from the seat across from them. She smiled faintly, though it was a sad, almost wistful smile that Daron didn't think was directed at him. He nudged Leah awake and slid out of the carriage, rubbing at his sore neck.
He paid the driver from his dwindling purse, and then swept his gaze about the area. The sky was overcast and the color of dull stone, though it was thankfully not raining. Yet. He nodded to the driver as he turned his team around and trundled back off the way they'd come.
Things looked different in the daylight than they had when they'd passed through there a few hours back. He tried to mentally place where the camp was from this direction, intending to bypass Mediya entirely. He cursed himself for not purchasing a map while in town. His list of things to remember the next time they tried something like this was growing exponentially.
"What's the plan?" Martin yawned as he stretched.
"Return to the camp," Daron said. "Find Jarod and Aiden. Get to the bottom of this."
"Succinct," Brynn said. "Fool proof as well." She flashed a grin. "Though you're fool enough to mess anything up."
"Give him a little credit," Leah said. She slid her sword from its sheath an inch, testing its clearance. "With him running things we managed to take the entire camp last night. Without you."